Riverside
by thirdmetaphor
Summary: When Itachi leaves the Nakano, he doesn't expect Shisui to leave with him. ShiIta, MadaIta, ItaShi, in that order. Oneshot.


**riverside**

"Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story." – _Kakfa on the Shore, _Murakami Haruki.

* * *

When he leaves the Nakano, he doesn't expect Shisui to leave with him.

"Well, fuck." The boy says sourly. "Is this it? Totally anticlimactic."

Itachi's lips are pressed into a tight line as he walks through the forest, inching closer to his house. He tells himself that it will go away and let him face his ghosts on his own.

"Rather bright through, isn't it? I always through I'd die on an epic kinda day. With thunder and lighting, and stuff. I told myself, Shisui, you're gonna go out with more than a bang. Like, with an explosion, or something. Not that shinobi are supposed to be good at that stuff. Really takes the fun out of life though, doesn't it?"

He's right. It's still midevening, and the sunlit clouds lumber uncaringly across the horizon. Hahaue and Chichiue will be inside, sitting around the kotatsu together. Itachi can already hear them arguing, but it's a shell-like anger they have, barely suppressing their worry. He takes another breath, puts another foot forward on the forest ground, and tries not to think to deeply.

But part of him can't help but wonder if Shisui is solid to touch.

"So I drowned to death, right?" The boy goes on. "In that river we used to swim in together? Well that's weird. I was named with the sounds for 'death' and 'water'. Did my mother know something I didn't? Do you think you can ask for me? Just go down to the market, she'll be there buying kunai for my sister, cause Shiori's a lazy ass who can't run her own errands. Itachi? Hey, Itachi are you all right? Come on, get up!"

He doesn't notice when his knees touch the grass, when his forehead is suddenly pressed against warm soil, when there are _solidthey'resolid _hands pushing at his back. The voice is cool and soothing against his inflamed mind and it's frightening because it bares him and tugs out every emotion they've taught him to hide. Itachi puts his shaking hands over his ears and tries to drown it away. Maybe…

Maybe it would be bearable if the Shisui walking beside him weren't thirteen again.

~o~

"Hey, Itachi?"

Itachi drowns out the voice. Shisui is standing beside him with his _solid _fingers clenched around his arm, and his eyes are filled with fear. They stand together in a house at the edge of the Uchiha compounds, and before them is a sleeping girl who has yet to awaken her Sharingan. She sleeps soundlessly and the moonlight filters through the window to paint a stroke of light across her face, as if caressing her and trying to protect her from the blade that's killed the rest. She's plain, but he knows that Shisui thinks she's the most beautiful girl in the village.

The fingers around his arm are tight.

"Itachi, do you think you could spare one more?" Shisui asks. "My sister's innocent too, you know, just like Sasuke. And she's the only one I've got, or… had. My older sister died that night in front of me, and I guess the Mangekyou was her last gift. But Shiori's a total angel. I mean, the worst thing she's done in her life is chopping my hair off while I was asleep. She scores high in the academy, she's got lots of friends – not a loner like the two of us – and she's the cutest little thing, isn't she? I mean, I know… I just…"

He waits. Waits until Shisui lets go of his arm. Then draws his blade.

~o~

When he leaves Konoha, there's a moment when he thinks that maybe Shisui will stay behind, because Shisui _is _Konoha in a way, and it's a tautological impossibility in his mind to separate something from a part of itself. At the edge of the village in the deep night, Itachi pauses at the gate and looks back with hesitance bubbling inside.

And in the distance Uchiha Madara waits, and waits, and waits.

But he fixes his eyes on his own Uchiha ghost, who stands behind him smiling and wiping tears off his face. _Will you come? _He wonders. _Will part of my Konoha come away with me? What does that mean?_

"Oi, why are you standing there?" Shisui wonders while he sniffles. His eyes are a somber red, both iris and whites, reddening further as he cries because he's fifteen in mind and fifteen-year-olds still tend to cling to the remnants of their childish fantasy. "Aren't we done here already? Go on, I'm not leaving even if you want me to. I know you had to do it, Itachi. But now you can show me why."

Itachi is thirteen and does not have any childish fantasies, he never has. He turns on his heel and walks forward into the quiet forest.

~o~

Eventually, he adapts.

Because after a while of having Shisui at his arm, making his lively comments on everything from how many vegetables Itachi eats to warning him when Kisame gets too close with that strange glint of challenge in his eye, everything of it is permanently entangled with his reality. If it were ever gone, it would be strange, as if someone had plucked out a part of his conscience and left it right where he could see and remember.

Itachi thinks he needs Shisui like he needs Sasuke. He needs Sasuke's existence to remind him of his path every morning when the harsh sunlight hits his eyes forcefully and makes him want to cling to his dreams of normalcy. He needs Sasuke's existence each time he lifts his arm, opens his eyes to battle, simply because he needs his _why._

But Shisui, Shisui is his _how. _He's life's perfect moderator, one that's solid to no one but Itachi. His touches are an enticing panacea, his cheery voice negates the screams of his victims and the rasp of Kisame's threats, his eyes still share that secretive smile that's only ever passed between them. From him and Sasuke, Itachi thinks he can do it. He can hold his head up, and walk confidently towards exoneration.

Yet now, there are the great mountains of Iwa like a stone coffin around them, and there is Kisame holding the Yonbi over his shoulder in a death-grip.

"Where do you keep looking?" His partner questions as he dumps the sack of a man at his feet. "I got our target already, Itachi-san."

Itachi nods briefly, not looking his way. The cliff edge is only meters to the side, and he cannot help but wonder if the fall would kill a man.

"We'll head back to Kawa then, and call the others to seal him," Kisame goes on, jabbing at the Yonbi's Jinchuuriki with Samehada.

"But we will stop at Ame on the way."

"Oh? Does Leader-sama want to see his pet again?"

"You don't need to keep referring to him like that. I know who Madara is."

Kisame tilts his head, and the blue muscles of his neck gleam in the morning light. "I know that you know, Itachi-san. And aren't you going to answer my question? Where do you keep looking with those eyes of yours?"

Itachi doesn't answer. He looks down at the jinchuuriki's limp body. Behind him, Shisui is scoffing and making a joke about how Kisame took so long to bring down an old man.

~o~

He goes to Madara in the late evening, in the tower of Ame where the rain seeps into every crack of every stone, wets him to his insides and pulls every stroke of warmth from his skin. There are no beds in the tower but Madara is traditional despite everything and he has a futon laid out whenever Itachi arrives, a hint of deceptive comfort among the bleak grey.

For his part, Itachi arrives willingly and paints compliance on his mouth. He's small still, at fifteen, and against him Madara is impossibly large, a figure of legend come to life, immortality seeping from every pore in his skin and coating him in an promising aroma of diligence. Itachi sits by him quietly, and slips out of his Akatsuki cloak. He watches red eyes roam over his skin.

"No new scars," Madara observes as he traces one thin finger down a pale chest. "You do your work well, it seems."

Itachi reaches down wordlessly and takes him in his hand. In a way, this is fine. The feeling is sharp and harsh and distracts him from Shisui, who watches silently from where he leans back against the wall. In times like these Shisui is impossibly beautiful, the uneasy worry is an ornament in his eyes. But soon he's writhing against the futon as Madara fucks every last thought from his mind, takes his half-hardness and strokes until he can no longer feel the strange emanations of pain.

"Madara-sama," Itachi breathes. "Let me." Without waiting for an answer, he places his hands against Madara's chest and climbs to his knees, swinging one leg over until their positions have changed.

Amusement shines in Madara's eyes. "Young, but vigorous." Despite his words, his hands settle on either side of Itachi's waist, guiding his motion. Back. Forwards. The boy is an arc of pallid beauty above him and it isn't something easily relinquished, or easily resisted.

"You told me that anyone who can kill a man isn't too young for anything. That is why I'm here."

A slight chuckle, interrupted by small gasps of pleasure. "You learn quickly."

And all Itachi can think of as he moves against Madara's timeless form is _Shisui. Shisui. Shisui._

"What a cradle-robber," Shisui comments later when they're alone, watching Itachi pull his cloak around his waist. "Seriously, I know he's supposed to be legendary and all, but despite his looks, he _is _two-hundred. Do you like being fucked by two-hundred-year-olds? I mean, with your attitude I always thought you'd be into older men – don't give me that look, you haven't looked twice at a girl all through puberty! – but this is taking it a little too far." He approaches the futon and kneels by it. In the light filtered through Ame's rain, Shisui's tentative smile is a staccato happiness, bursting through every fiber of Itachi's mind.

He briefly thinks that after seeing it, maybe Shisui doesn't regret dying a virgin any longer. He feels like saying, _I'm some sort of masochist. You can't expect anything more from me. _But he can't bring himself to speak to the image.

"Hey, did you ever think of doing that with me?" The words tumble out with hints of embarrassment and Shisui's face reddens slightly. He averts his eyes as soon as he realizes what he's said. "Cause, you know, I'd totally be a candidate. But if you really like them two-hundred, then I probably don't fit, huh? And now I'm like, twelve, or something, so that would make _you _the cradle-robber."

Shock stills Itachi's breath. He looks up slowly to the boy who's solid just for him, eyes glancing over the boundless curls on his head to the slight stocky frame of his body. _Yes. Yes. Yes. _But he resists, because he cannot get close while Madara's scent still lingers around him like a cloak of decadence.

~o~

"You know, I think that's a girl," Shisui observes seriously. "Yes, definitely a girl. You can't see her with the way everyone flickers like that, which is a total bummer, but if you pay attention, she definitely has boobs. And she looks thoroughly tired with all this shit. Nice to know this organization of yours isn't just filled with a bunch of homicidally depressed men, huh? If I were you, I'd make an effort to get along with _her _instead of your fishy partner."

This is Shisui. This is the humor that he draws effortlessly from the pits of discordance, and as they stand there hearing of Orochimaru's defection, in the midst of the harsh truths of the world, Shisui is grinning as brightly as he always has. His grin is the kind that holds a heavy power.

There's silence in the cave of the Outer Path, and six sets of eyes are trained on Itachi, watching confusedly as his mouth twitches into a mirrored smile. They're blocked when Shisui's form comes to stand before him, and when he sees that his words have finally enticed a reaction of out him, he lets a lurid light into his eyes.

"Ha! You found that funny! Weird, you never laugh at any of my jokes, but you find this funny." He places his hands on his hips. "You know what? I fucking dare you. Ask her. Or him. Whichever one. Confirm my theory, Itachi-kun."

"Is something funny?" Pein's low voice fills the room and reverberates off every wall, and for a moment there's something akin to fear rising up, something long dead that only Pein-sama and Madara-sama are ever capable of evoking from him. But it evens out inside as it winks out of existence and Itachi looks back unflinchingly.

"Nothing, Pein-sama."

"Pity," Kisame's image wavers. "Would be nice if there were something good enough to make even _you_ smile, Itachi-san."

~o~

Four years later, he walks silently through the forests of Hi no Kuni with his ghost by his side. The evening sun is a liquid brilliance that day, highlighting every drop of beauty he can find in life and it almost gives his last day meaning.

Sometimes, he wonders how long he's waited for this.

"This is as far as I go," Shisui tells him five hours before his death. "Looks like I can't follow you into that building." He casts an apprehensive glance over the circular Uchiha hideout.

Itachi pauses in his step, and a sudden lurk of unease takes him. Shisui has followed him everywhere for over seven years and it's unthinkable to not have his presence there before him, casting snide remarks. For the first time, he turns to face his solid ghost and the words scatter out. "Why not?"

Shisui blinks. "I don't know, aren't you supposed to know?"

"I don't." He hasn't spoken for days and his throat is parched with silence. The words sound desperate.

"Well, it's not too hard to figure out," Shisui taps a finger against his chin. "Maybe you want me to remember you like this, instead of seeing you when you die. It's your mind, after all, and frankly that seems like a pretty scary place."

Itachi looks away. "Is that all it's ever been? My mind?"

He's known better than to assume. This is part of his reality after all, something interwoven so deeply that it would never fade. It's been there, lingering, even before Shisui's death, even when all he had were the premonitions of it, because Shisui voice is soothing like the warm looks that hahaue long stopped giving and senpai long stopped handing out and Sasuke long stopped trying to emulate. The Sharingan makes hedonists of its users, where the pleasure of power and dignity triumphs over any kind of normalcy. It is a weapon that brands its users with a wish for something to cling to, and for Itachi this is not power but Shisui, Shisui-nii, Shunshin no Shisui with his neon smiles and head of brazen curls, Shisui who is unlike any other Uchiha.

But silence fills the clearing, and Shisui's smile fades away, replaced by a look of confusion. "Wait, you thought_ everything _was just in your mind? Well that's silly. You may have chosen the way I look and the places I go, but Great Uchiha Itachi or not, even _you_ don't know enough about me to actually recreate me."

The shock stills him to his core.

"I… I didn't know," he breathes.

"Well fuck, talk to me once in a while, won't you? Maybe then you'd have figured it out." Shisui sighs and grabs his shoulder. "Come on, you've still got time before you have to commit suicide by little brother. Talk to me, Itachi."

He doesn't know what to say. Their friendship was once built on Shisui's words and his own silence, on one-sided banter and secretive glances when Shisui looked away.

"Well fine, I'll say things instead. I'm probably the sappy one between us, but only because you're a total block of ice." He relents. "Itachi, was it worth it? This kind of hell? I've watched you for a long time, and somehow I don't think it was. But I'll believe your words."

_Who knows? _Itachi thinks, but he says, "yes." And maybe there's too much that shows, but he has five hours left and his attention has long been shifted away like the fickle thing it truly is.

Between the two of them, Shisui has always been better at reading people. A frown pulls at his lips and draws lines from the corners of his mouth. "You're lying. But that's ok, because you're allowed to. I think if I were you, I'd lie a lot too," and maybe it's ok because Itachi's eyes tell such a harsh truth about something else and that overshadows his every lie. "You know, I should probably tell you this early, but I'm totally a pedophile," Shisui informs him sternly. "I was eying you back when you were ten, I swear. So you should probably decide on this stuff before you kiss me, or anything."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's not my fault if you were my type," he retreats. "I know everyone else thought you were plain-looking and weird, but that's only because you didn't act normally around them. But this Shunshin no Shisui saw right through you, kid, and you were fucking beautiful."

Itachi raises an eyebrow, "were?"

"You didn't have dark circles back then," Shisui points out brazenly. "Now you have dark circles. And they make you look like Madara. He may have been the target of half the kunoichi population, but his look totally doesn't suit you. You were made for finer things."

He stills when _smaller, _languid hands run over his face, mapping out his every mark, brushing over his slight cheekbones. "You were made for that ceremonial kimono that Mikoto-sama made you wear for Tanabata when you were eight," he murmurs. "You hated it, and frankly it was a ridiculous piece, but it looked nice on you. These dark circles don't. You were made to wear the hitai-ite of Konoha, not these frown lines. How many days has it been since you slept a full night, anyway? Even when Kisame stopped trying to kill you, you'd still wake up at the blow of a candle."

Itachi remains quiet. Takes a breath. Allows Shisui's hands to explore him, to run over his skin and brush his hair over his shoulder.

"You know what depresses me, though? That you wanted to do it all by yourself. That was a _mistake, _Itachi. I don't care how fucking perfect you think you are, that was a _mistake_," his voice ends waveringly, unsure, with a hidden anger masked by something too delicate for him to comprehend. Sometimes, Shisui is like a prowling cat. He knows far more than he has any right to.

"Shisui-"

"And I should be a good friend and knock you out so you get some decent sleep before you walk into that building, but I'm too selfish for that." His voice cracks unbearably. "Because this is the first time since I died that you've looked _at _me and not _through _me and I won't let this slip away." He's standing on the tips of his toes, hands braced against Itachi's shoulders, pulling their mouths together.

The real Shisui would have tasted of mochi and sweets, dango and maybe fresh plums. But all Itachi tastes is soft skin, and that's fine, because his memories place the mochi and plums together effortlessly as they kiss in the silent clearing, where only the birds above watch with guarded eyes. They don't pull back until they're air has run out, and Shisui's lips are _red, _coated with a vigorous blush that reminds him painfully of the blood that has been there before.

Shisui wrinkles his nose. "You know, I'd say something, but I'm gonna sound fucking sappy. But more importantly, aren't you my cousin, or something? God, our clan is so fucked up." Despite his words, his hands claw desperately at what he can touch and they say something far more.

"I've never thought of you as an Uchiha," Itachi admits silently, still shocked by the suddenness of it all. "You were always different."

He barely has time to finish before their mouths are together once again, and its not so much a kiss as an attempt to convey what he's tried to say for years. He drinks in Shisui's taste with a relentless desperation and the scarcity of it all, the five fucking hours he has left all serve to heighten the fact that it's _Shisui's _mouth pressed against his, _Shisui _who's responding to his touch. He's small against him, an eternal thirteen, but he kisses with the fury of someone so much older, someone who's watched his friend do the same for years.

Three words slip out somewhere between their lips parting and rejoining, and they sound natural, obvious, as if they've already been said many times. Itachi smiles against his friend's mouth because Shisui is thrilled against him, and for the first time in years, there's something that thrills him.

* * *

This seems to have been jossed by canon. I regret nothing.

Feedback, maybe? I've always loved this pairing, but the community is so small, even smaller than HashiMada..


End file.
